


Defiance

by katineto (mistalagan)



Series: YoI One-Shots [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 800 words of Yuuri making a will save, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, and Viktor is a mage but offscreen, in which Yuuri is a paladin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 08:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17383127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistalagan/pseuds/katineto
Summary: The sound of the lich’s skeletal hands coming together is raspy and weak, a pale imitation of applause. “How impressive,” he says, in his voice that calls to mind twitching creatures and unconsecrated graves.Yuuri, holding his last healing talisman in one hand, does not look up. He tears through the seal with his thumb, and as the paper vanishes in a puff of magic and smoke, lets its warm blessing wrap around his body and work its way into his wounds. It’s not enough to heal him entirely. He breathes, in and out, to center himself, to ignore the lingering pain.(prompt: defiance)





	Defiance

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr.

The sound of the lich’s skeletal hands coming together is raspy and weak, a pale imitation of applause. “How impressive,” he says, in his voice that calls to mind twitching creatures and unconsecrated graves.

Yuuri, holding his last healing talisman in one hand, does not look up. He tears through the seal with his thumb, and as the paper vanishes in a puff of magic and smoke, lets its warm blessing wrap around his body and work its way into his wounds. It’s not enough to heal him entirely. He breathes, in and out, to center himself, to ignore the lingering pain.

“It would appear that I’m just in time,” the creature continues, passing through the doorway into the small antechamber. He steps dispassionately over the broken, rotting bodies that litter the floor. The hem of his white robe, stained with old blood, susurrates as he moves, but his footsteps make no sound.

Yuuri’s own blood is smeared across his chest, sullying the bright emblem of his goddess. He is drained of her blessing, and this far underground he cannot beg for more. All he has now is himself; his armor; and his sword.

Those, and the desperate prayer that he can hold the door long enough for Viktor to finish the ritual.

“I suppose it would be optimistic of me to ask you to step aside,” the lich says, pausing some distance away. “I can offer you power, treasures, revenge, et cetera, et cetera.” He waves a hand in the air. “Love and devotion, if that’s what you want.”

Yuuri’s hand grips his sword tightly. He shifts, standing up straight, and positions himself to face the lich.

“No?” The lich sighs. “You’d be surprised how often that works. Cao Bin, for example, was a very loyal servant, while he lasted.” 

All Viktor needed was an hour. Yuuri’s been standing here for nearly that long, pushing back wave after wave of undead monstrosities. What’s one more?

Of course, even if Viktor succeeds, there’s no guarantee they’ll get out of here alive. No guarantee they’ll ever see the sun again, feel the fresh breeze, eat anything other than magically-sweetened, conjured gruel, sleep without hand on sword or spellpouch. All the ritual does is buy them time. All things die in the end, even the earth itself.

And weakened, depleted, and exhausted as Yuuri is, there’s no way he’ll be able to stand against the lich, reformed and rejuvenated. It was a lucky chance the first time they destroyed his body. It took the two of them working together, and they never found his phylactery, nor will they. He’ll always return, stronger every time.

Yuuri might as well give up now.

The tip of his sword begins to falter in the face of the lich’s unending grin. 

And who does Yuuri think he is, anyway? How arrogant, to believe that a nobody from a tiny seaside village could be anything other than a pawn, a bump in the road. What a fool, to take up sword and shield and act like that means something, like a child playing at being a hero. Yuuri always fails, just at the wrong time, in the worst way. He’s weak. His goddess has turned her face away, and he’ll die here, forgotten and alone.

The gold ring on his finger catches the dim light.

No, he’s not alone. He has Viktor. Viktor is depending on him.

Viktor. Gorgeous, talented Viktor. How could Yuuri think someone like Viktor would ever depend on him—or _want_ him? All Yuuri is to Viktor is a warm and willing body, in more ways than one. Viktor with his sharp smile, his effortless charm, his preternatural grasp of the arcane arts—he’ll use Yuuri as a tool and toss him aside just as easily when he winds up broken. He’s a man as cold as the ice he favors, who didn’t get where he is by giving into sentiment. He probably went into that room behind Yuuri and laughed at his naivete—no, not even that. He probably spared Yuuri not a single thought.

Except— 

That’s not right.

Viktor isn’t like that at all.

Viktor’s smiles are wide and guileless, though he practices the things he’s going to say to kings and innkeepers alike. His hands seem to be unerringly attracted to Yuuri’s body. When he drinks, he’s silly verging on inappropriate. When he sleeps, his face is soft and vulnerable, and when he wakes, he stares at Yuuri like he’s the culmination of everything Viktor’s ever worked for, rather than the other way around.

Yuuri blinks, and the fog in his mind vanishes as he shakes off the spell. He squares his shoulders as the lich scowls. “I’m not that easy,” he states, raising his sword again, falling into a well-practiced stance. “And you will not get past me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell I play D&D?
> 
> I can't decide whether Viktor would be a sorcerer or a wizard, because on the one hand natural talent, high charisma, and silver dragon heritage, and on the other hand hard-working bookish nerd. Either way Makkachin is his familiar.


End file.
